Bro Qiang chose the game "Tower Stacking." A convenience store stood near the lawn. He ordered his men to buy two brand-new identical sets of building blocks. They handed one to Jiang Xuehan and one to Fatty, then opened them right there.
The rules were simple. Two players took turns stacking blocks on a table. After placing a new block, all blocks except the base one must stay above the table—never touching it. If the tower collapsed or blocks fell after your move, you lost.
"Tower Stacking" originated in the Assyrian Empire of Mesopotamia around the 8th century BC. Slave owners back then played it for fun with bricks. Losers often staked a slave as payment.
The game seemed easy but hid cunning traps. Each player’s blocks weren’t identical—some large, some small, some square, some jagged. Adding small blocks was safest for your turn. But small blocks ran out fast. Later, you had to use big ones. And the higher the tower, the shakier it got. Adding big blocks then was deadly risky. Yet starting with big blocks could collapse everything early, wasting the small ones.
At first, Fatty’s hands trembled as he held his blocks. But he glanced at the glowing charcoal in the nearby stove. His teeth clenched. He glared viciously at Jiang Xuehan. "You little bitch. You brought this on yourself. Why ruin your own perfect hands?"
"Heh. Aren’t those trotters of yours getting barbecued?" Jiang Xuehan shot back.
"Bitch… you little bitch… little tramp…" Fatty muttered.
Bro Qiang grew impatient beside them. "Who starts? Gonna rock-paper-scissors for it?"
"I will!" A cold glint flashed in Fatty’s eyes.
The first few rounds didn’t matter much. Jiang Xuehan didn’t object.
A large square block was placed flat on the table. Every block after that must avoid touching the surface.
Jiang Xuehan’s turn came. She picked the tiniest block and set it on top.
"Damn you!" Fatty gritted his teeth. He added another small block.
They took turns stacking higher. Soon the tower reached over ten layers. Blocks sat unevenly. The whole structure swayed slightly, visibly unsteady.
It was Jiang Xuehan’s turn again. Fatty suddenly chattered nervously. "Little sister, see how badly it’s shaking? Be careful this time. One slip, and your hand goes into that red-hot charcoal. Tsk tsk. Such pretty, tender hands… scars would be such a waste."
Xia Ziying and Wen Jiaqi watched anxiously. For girls, skin was a second face. Burns would be tragic.
Fatty was waging psychological warfare. Stacking now demanded steady hands. Nervous players often trembled and failed.
But Jiang Xuehan, once the top live-streamer, wouldn’t flinch. Streaming required iron nerves to handle endless online trolls and bots. At just eighteen, she’d weathered countless verbal storms. Her resolve was unshakable. A few words wouldn’t rattle her.
Under her roommates’ tense stares, she calmly placed a medium block on the top layer. Her lips curled. "Hey, fat pig. Hurry up. I’m already smelling roasted trotters!"
Fatty wiped fine sweat from his brow. He picked a small block, hovering it over the tower. He searched desperately for the right spot.
Crackle, pop… crackle, pop…
He heard fire sounds. The petite girl before him mimicked burning wood with her mouth and tongue.
Already tense, he panicked. He whirled to Bro Qiang. "That little bitch cheated! She’s disrupting my turn!"
Jiang Xuehan looked innocent. "The rules only say players must stay two meters from the tower during others’ turns. Where’s the foul?"
Bro Qiang watched, cigar dangling. He scowled. "Fatty, stop dawdling. You’re worse than a girl."
Trapped, Fatty gambled. He placed his block. The wobbly tower shuddered violently. It seemed ready to collapse. His face turned bloodless.
But luck favored him. The tower held, though it trembled nonstop.
Fatty wiped his sweat, smirking. "Your turn, little bitch. I doubt you’ll be this lucky!"
The fifteen-layer tower teetered wildly. It looked ready to fall on its own.
Xia Ziying whispered worriedly to Jiang Xuehan. "Xiao Han, stop. It’s too dangerous. Let me call the police quietly. They’ll escort us back."
Jiang Xuehan shook her head confidently. "If cops come, how do I teach that fat pig a lesson? The streets have their own rules. Police can’t fix this."
"Xiao Han…"
Ignoring her, Jiang Xuehan grabbed a block and stepped to the tower.
"Oh? Little sister, you’ll really place it? One touch and it’ll crash. Kneel and beg me now. I might spare you and end the game." Fatty’s fat face oozed smugness.
Jiang Xuehan paused. She asked an odd question. "Fat pig. Do you know Ming Wang?"
